


Lost and Found

by moyzi



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Rough Kissing, post-season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-04 03:06:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11546199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moyzi/pseuds/moyzi
Summary: After the school year ends and summer arrives, Cheryl finds herself struggling to stay afloat among the spike in gossip and the thoughts of what could have been. The turmoil drives her to Archie Andrew's door, where she finally abandons the Blossom mantra in exchange for something new.





	Lost and Found

As a Blossom somewhere down the line had once said: “ _Never_ let anyone too close. _Never_ reveal your weaknesses to anyone. The moment they stop fearing you, is the moment you lose their respect.” And, Cheryl Blossom—like her family before her—lived strictly by these terms.

That was until Cheryl tumbled down from her throne—a throne with its legs digging into the backs of the student body supporting it—and spent the remainder of the year on all fours, crawling, ducking beneath a thick layer of smoke swirling with the rumors of the incident at Sweetwater River. The school year dwindled to a close that spring, and by that time, Cheryl had already been exiled to an old family home on the outskirts of Riverdale with her mother, and the stories of her newfound arsonistic tendencies had already made the rounds.

But, as far as Riverdale was concerned, Cheryl and Penelope were no longer Blossoms, but rather the last living connections to the true crime-esque tale that befell the two Blossom men. Her name and social status had quickly become acquainted with rock-bottom, and there was no turning back from that. 

Summer quickly rolled around, and never had she been more happy to escape the cruel halls of Riverdale High. What typically would be a summer full of swimsuit shopping and late-night trips to Sweetwater river and opulent vacations with her late brother Jason was now a summer of tight-closed blinds and long days spent beneath suffocating covers. She liked to stay asleep—it was the only way to keep her mind off of things—but her naps were too often cut short by the sobs of her mother heard through thin walls. Cheryl had not heard her mother cry for awhile, not since Jason’s initial murder, and not quite like that. There was a certain emptiness festering beneath her cries that couldn’t be imitated.

Cheryl could only tolerate it so long until she had to leave her room. Though, she’d soon decided that wasn’t enough to drown out the sound, so now, Cheryl was standing on the front porch for the first time since she’d moved in, covered in a baggy sweatshirt that once belonged to Jason (her mother would surely murder her if she were ever to find out Cheryl raided his belongings) and a pair of tattered jeans, a bit too big on her hips.

She didn’t know where to go, where in this shit town she’d even be _accepted_ , but she kept walking. When she felt like she wasn’t getting anywhere, she quickened her pace, and then soon enough she was jogging, winding down the back roads lined with dense forests, all the way to the inner city streets. Drops of sweat rolled down her face; this summer heat was really a killer, and she didn’t even stop and think about her choice in outfit. And occasionally she could catch the disapproving glare shot at her from those passing by, and for a moment she wondered if it was because of her clothing or simply because she was _her_.

Eventually, her morning escapade landed her in a spot she never expected to be again: Just before Archie Andrews’ door. She scrambled to catch her breath, inhaling deeply between her short spurts, and when she realized she would never quite work up the courage to knock, she did it anyway.

Eighteen seconds later (not that she had been counting), the door opened, revealing the one and only. It was his house, and yet, she still jumped at the sight of him. 

His eyebrows furrowed. “Cheryl? What’s up?”

Her lips parted. A stupid, simple question, but words bubbled up her throat, refusing to rise any further. Which, was more than likely for the best, because who knew what would tumble from her mouth at this point? She was already preparing to make a mad dash in a fit of shame—she’d deal with the consequences when school started back up—but finally settled on a vague explanation: “I, uh …. I just wanted to see you. I guess.”

“Why?”

More damn questions. “Don’t take it personally, or anything, Archiekins,” she quickly spat. “I was just … in the neighborhood.”

By the look he was giving her, his suspicion was more than obvious. And yet, he opened the door further anyway, stepping aside to let her in. She observed the Andrews’ home—a sharp contrast to the late Thornhill—as Archie closed the door behind them. “Where’s Daddy Andrews?”

“He just left. Had some work stuff to take care of.”

“I see.”

“You hot?” Archie began. Cheryl glanced over her shoulder at him, and he averted his eyes, a hand moving to cover the back of his neck. “I mean, you look really hot—like, sweaty. No offense.”

“A little bit taken, but yes.”

“Come on, I’ll get you something to drink,” he said, passing by Cheryl to the kitchen. She trailed behind. “So, you just get back from the gym?”

Opening the fridge, he grabbed the water pitcher, setting it on the counter as he reached for a glass. “Actually, I walked here.” He looked at her, eyebrows raised, as she leaned against the counter next to him.

He smiled, giving a short laugh. “You _walked_ here?” She nodded, her own lips conforming into a prideful grin. He poured the water. “That’s pretty crazy, Cheryl.”

He handed her the glass, and then moved to set the water pitcher back in the fridge. “I guess that makes me pretty crazy, doesn’t it?”

The fridge door shut, and suddenly she could feel his eyes back on her. She looked up slowly from her sip, returning his gaze, and it was then she realized the air of the room had taken a quick turn. “Archie—?”

“Look, Cheryl … we never really talked about … what happened. You know, at Sweetwater River.”

She placed the glass onto the counter gently. Her brief escape from reality was quickly waning. Is that why she came here? Did she really think that just because Archie had saved her back then, that he could save her _now_?

“I’m sorry,” Archie quickly said. “I-I’m sorry, I never should have brought it up—”

“No, no, Arch—it’s fine.” Whatever courage she had left, she mustered up to look him in the eyes. It pained her to see that look he was giving. A look of pity, a look of sympathy. For who— _her_? 

He stepped closer, and she felt his sudden energy rush into her. “It’s not. I need to know that you’re okay.”

“That I’m okay?” She took a step forward. “My twin brother is now six feet under, with a bullet hole still in his head—which, if I need to remind you, was blasted through his brain by my own father.”

“Cheryl—”

“And after that, Daddy was hanging from our barn’s rafters. Mother dearest hasn’t spoken to me in weeks, and quite honestly, I’m surprised I haven’t found her with a noose around her neck, too—”

“ _Cheryl_!” Archie shouted, grabbing at her wrists. She rooted in place, the sharp voice still rattling her eardrums. Her skin burned where his fingers clutched. For that moment, the air was squeezed from her lungs and there was this look in Archie’s eyes that terrified her, even if it did nothing more than make her feel vulnerable. She watched as his wide eyes darted back and forth, inspecting her face, and then she realized the tears that were welling in her own eyes.

“Cheryl,” he murmured softly. His fingers slipped from her wrists, and she glanced quickly to see the white indentations against her reddened skin. His hands moved to cup her face and, tilting his hands, his thumbs stretched to wipe the tears beginning to fall. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” 

She shook her head. “Why can’t you see? It’s never okay, it can’t b-be okay.” Shame washed upon her at the cracking of her voice. She refocused her attention on her shoes, her lips moving in tiny prayers that she could just evaporate right there.

“ _Please_ , Cheryl, I’m so sorry.” For once, Archie’s voice trembled. She looked back up to him. The Archie Andrews, crying right before her eyes. 

Then again, _the_ Cheryl Blossom was already a sniffling mess.

The pad of her thumb traced along his hand on her cheek, outlining the rise and fall of his knuckles. “I’m sorry,” she choked out, and she hadn’t been exactly sure what she was apologizing for, but the words had been stuck on her tongue for awhile.

Before her mind could process the moment fully, Archie’s lips were pressed against hers with an unprecedented amount of force. He walked into her, until she was moved backwards by his momentum, halted by the countertop. His hands strayed from her face, moving down to her waist, lifting her up and setting her upon the counter in one swift motion.

He kissed her deeply, and she followed suit, lifting her hands to hold his face. Her legs parted, letting him slip between them. His arms wrapped around her, his hands trailing up and down her bare back, until it just seemed easier for the two to break their position to lift the sweatshirt up and over Cheryl’s head. Archie tossed it to the side, and Cheryl felt much better as the air-conditioned gust slid over her bare, sticky skin. Goosebumps rose, and it was uncertain whether that was a result of the new breeze or the way Archie’s fingertips ran over her skin.

The whole scene was a stark contrast from the time they had kissed outside of Thornhill; maybe because Archie actually _wanted_ to kiss her now. She could tell that in the way he pushed hungrily against her, the way he sucked on her bottom lip and moaned every time their lips met between breaks. Though, he wasn’t the only one so desperate for touch; her legs had wrapped around his hips and clasped together, trapping him close to her. Ecstasy rattled in her gut as she rubbed against him. The salty taste became familiar to her lips.

They pulled back, the shared air between them warm, and Cheryl stole the time to ground herself within the moment. Her fingernail traced down his jaw as she studied his face: the coy curl of his lip, the so-undeserving soft gaze his eyes offered her, the russet tint of his hair—honestly, it would be more believable if Archie shared Blossom blood somehow, rather than the blond-headed Coopers next door. All in all, she decided that he did resemble Jason an awful lot, and that fact both excited her and pierced deep into her chest.

Jason. The Fourth of July. Sweetwater River. 

“Why did you save me, Archie?” The words had slipped from her tongue before she had the chance to stop them.

Archie was clearly taken back by the question. He shook his head. “I mean, why wouldn’t I?”

"So what—did Archie Andrews save me to keep his precious hero-facade afloat?"

He slightly winced, and suddenly his face wore a look of betrayal. "No, Cheryl, how could you even think that?” He glanced down, swiftly swiping his tongue over his lips before meeting her eyes again. “I saved you because I couldn't imagine a Riverdale without you. Despite whatever you think, this town needs you. I need you. And there is no way in hell I would’ve left you there."

The corners of her lips pulled into a genuine smile, and he reflected her grin. "I'm only pressing your buttons,” she said. “You've saved me enough times for me to know you're the real deal."

He flashed a toothy smile, one that sent her heart racing, before returning his lips to hers.

As a Blossom somewhere down the line had once said: “ _Never_ let anyone too close. _Never_ reveal your weaknesses to anyone. The moment they stop fearing you, is the moment you lose their respect.” But now, Cheryl wasn't sure she played on Blossom terms. Now, she knew Archie could see right through her.

Maybe one day, Archie Andrews would be the one pulling the trigger—but then again, maybe dying by his hand wouldn't be such a bad way to go.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
